O Maker, hear my cry
by andrastaie
Summary: "Missing scene" from the end of All that Remains. Hawke goes to the Chantry to seek solace in the Maker, but finds comfort in a certain Prince instead.


_"You… know where to find me if you want to talk about it. I understand if you don't."_

Hawke sat numbly on her bed, Aveline's words still echoing in her mind. Yet they could not drown out the self-doubt that all but blared in her head. Everything she'd worked for, everything they'd sacrificed seemed hollow. Useless. A waste.

Gamlen had gone to the Gallows to inform Carver. And it was just as well. Hawke couldn't bear to see her little brother. Not now. Not to hear the accusations of this being her fault. She already knew it was. The last thing she needed was her baby brother parroting her thoughts.

Orana had been sent away with Sandal to run errands, Bohdan left with explicit instructions to permit no one to the estate. Everything was quiet and still in the empty mansion. Only the light patter of rain on the windows and the crackling of the fireplace broke the silence. Even Dane's breathing was muted as he huddled close to Hawke, offering her the support she could find no where else.

The most brutal and violent of her sobbing had already passed, leaving Hawke feeling drained and weary. Yet sleep eluded her. Even curled up under the blankets, hugging her mabari close, she found no peace to slip away into the Fade.

Frustration began to gnaw at her as silent tears slipped down her cheeks. Pushing herself up, Hawke shuffled to her wardrobe. Stripping off her house robe slowly, she slipped into some older leathers. Strapping her daggers to her back, she pulled a dark cloak on and gave Dane a reassuring pat on the head. He whined in response, but watched as Hawke slipped out the estate through a window without any other fuss.

The moon was high as Hawke wandered Hightown. Whether it was coincidence or providence, none of the typical thugs harried Hawke as she meandered. She lingered, for a time, at the steps that would lead her down to Lowtown. The thought to go drown herself in the swill from the Hanged Man whispered in her mind, but she could not budge her feet in that direction. That would put her closer to the docks. Which would be closer to the Gallows. The way her luck went, by now Gamlen would have told Carver. And he'd be drinking at the Hanged Man himself.

Sniffing and blowing out a sigh, Hawke turned and moved away. Her steps were light, gentle on the stone as she glided through the shadows. Passing her estate, Hawke drifted into the Chantry Courtyard. She hesitated, jaw clenched as she looked up the steps.

Hawke had never considered herself to be a pious woman, but she had nothing else. No other purpose now. Perhaps the Maker could provide guidance where her own strength of will fell short.

Sniffling again, Hawke ascended the steps with great care. And as she pushed the doors of the dark Chantry open, she made little noise. She padded across the floor silently, noticing some candles were still lit. She made a beeline up the steps and to the pews. Her hood fluttered off as she knelt quickly. Clasping her hands and bowing forward, she murmured under her breath.

As she mumbled broken verses of the chant mixed in with her own prayers, her surroundings faded away. She became oblivious to anything happening around her. Including the quiet approach of familiar Chantry brother.

"Hawke?"

Sebastian's voice was soft, accent thick and laced with concern. He crouched down beside her, laying a strong hand upon her shoulder. Hawke screamed - quietly. Her voice strained and hoarse came out as a strangled cry in her surprise. Her grey eyes widening as her head snapped up to look at him.

"Sebastian? Wh-what are you doing here?"

He chuckled warmly. "Hawke, I live here."

A blush crept across her cheeks. "Oh… right." She cleared her throat in a vain attempt to recover some semblance of her voice. In her distress, she had utterly forgotten about Sebastian. Forgotten that by coming here she was not escaping everyone as she'd planned.

With a sigh, she rocked back to sit on her rear. Her back leaned up against the pew she'd knelt beside. Her eyes were hazy, red and puffy from the almost non-stop crying. His blue gaze softened when he got a good look at her, worry creeping across his brow.

Wordlessly now, Sebastian seated himself next to her. Immediately, Hawke crawled into his lap and leaned against his chest. With care, he wrapped his strong arms around her, pulling her closer. She peered up at him, tears still staining her cheeks and burning behind her eyes. Subconsciously, Hawke was glad he was not clad in his armor. The simple robes provided by the Chantry were soft and worn, mixed with incense and a scent that was distinctly his own.

A silence stretched on, only the periodic hiccups from her breaking the quiet of the Chantry. Sebastian said nothing as he drew circles along her back, gentle and soothing strokes of his fingers.

"Where did I go wrong?" she whispered roughly.

"You did nothing wrong," he answered. "And you did everything you could. She is with the Maker now."

Hawke hiccuped once, head bobbing in an awkward nod. "And Bethany, and father," she added quietly.

Sebastian rumbled his agreement. The gentle vibrations of his chest far more soothing for Hawke that she expected. Her fingers curled against his chest, gripping the fabric of his robe as she buried her face. He tipped his head downward and placed a gentle kiss upon the top of her head.

"Has it all been for nothing?" she asked, her voice heavily muffled against his chest.

Sebastian gave her an inquisitive hum, tilting his head downward to look at her. With reluctance, Hawke pulled away enough to unmuffle her voice. She repeated her question, biting at her bottom lip as more tears threatened to spill. He took no time at all to shake his head.

"No, Hawke -"

"Ashley. P-please I need to hear my _name_," she requested.

He nodded, smiling warmly. "Ashley," he affirmed, her name rolling out in the sweet lilt of his accent. "I do not believe what you've done has been for naught." Sebastian pushed a few strands of loose hair away from her face. "You've made a difference in Kirkwall. You made a difference for your family. I don't believe your mother could have asked for anything more."

Hawke's jaw tensed as she tried to hold back a fresh wave of tears. "You clearly didn't know my mother well," she said in a breathless laugh. Yet there was little humor to be found in her tone. As another sob wracked her body, she gripped and twisted the fabric in her fingers tighter. He was like a life raft to her now, the only thing keeping her afloat.

He had no answer for her. Truly neither of them could speak for her mother and what Leandra thought of her daughter. That was not the sort of thoughts that Hawke needed and they both knew it.

As Hawke buried her face against his chest again, Sebastian held her close and rested his cheek against the top of her head. Softly he began to murmur from the Chant of Light. The smooth words of Transfigurations wavering in and out of Hawke's haze.

"My Maker, know my heart," he whispered. "Take from me a life of sorrow, lift me from a world of pain." He released a soft breath, tilting his head just enough to press a soft kiss atop her head. "Judge me worthy of Your endless pride."

Slowly Hawke began to waver in and out of sleep. Drifting between the Fade and reality as Sebastian's strong yet gentle voice carried on in the chant.

"O Maker, hear my cry: seat me by Your side in death." He shifted so he could lean his back against the nearby pew. "Make me one within Your glory and let the world once more see Your favor."

"Sebastian?" she interrupted, voice a whisper.

"Yes, Ashley?"

Her heart fluttered at the sound of her name again, finally serving to remind her that she was not so empty as she'd first believed.

"Thank you."


End file.
